


Castiel's Most Precious Jewel (or that time Dean married a giant lizard)

by Valinde (Valyria)



Series: Ten Trope Prompts [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Bottom Dean, Crack, Dragon Castiel, Human Sacrifice, M/M, Mating, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valyria/pseuds/Valinde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn’t care that it was tradition, that it was how things had been done for thousands of years, he didn’t want to get married and he sure as hell didn’t want to marry a fucking <em>dragon.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Castiel's Most Precious Jewel (or that time Dean married a giant lizard)

Dean didn’t _care_ that it was tradition, that it was how things had been done for thousands of years, he didn’t want to get married and he sure as hell didn’t want to marry a _fucking dragon._

“The gods chose you,” the village elders told him and everyone just nodded along, even his own brother.

His mother was the only one who’d argued. “He’s meant to be _willing!_ ” she’d insisted. “There are others who would be honored – let one of them take his place.”

The old priest Zachariah had just shaken his head sadly. “It must be Dean,” he’d said, “The oracle saw it in a vision. The dragon will accept no other.”

It was all a load of bullshit of course. The ‘oracle’ – _Ruby -_ just sat in the temple huffing sweet-grass all day and her ‘visions’ were about as prophetic as the stories Dean told after too much wine. She was just pissed because Dean had run her off after she kept trying to get her wily hooks in Sam, who was still a kid and should be at his lessons not fooling around with temple girls.

Zachariah knew all that of course. He was just going along with her stupid ‘vision’ claim because Dean had refused to suck his dick during the last summer solstice festival. (Even drunk he had standards, and despite what Zachariah had claimed, Dean was fairly certain the gods didn’t expect him to show his love for them by letting some an old priest face-fuck him with his wizened junk behind the altar.)

Which left him here, standing in the middle of the temple dressed up in a ceremonial robe – essentially a blanket with a few tassels – anointed with weird smelling oil and wearing a wreath of holly berries, oak leaves and for reasons known only to the old priestess who made the damn things, feathers Dean were pretty sure came from a duck.

Maybe a chicken.

It depended on what she’d had for dinner lately he suspected.

Zachariah and the adepts were singing some droning chant and every now and then Raphael would ring the ceremonial brass gong and deafen everyone. It went on for a good half hour, and Dean was starting to think his ‘betrothed’ the _dragon_ wasn’t going to turn up and he’d be able to go home when people starting gasping and pointing and looking up he saw a plume of fire blot out the stars above.

He sighed. “Oh fuck.”

In front of him Zachariah turned and gave him a sharp, disapproving look, but Dean was too busy being horrified at the prospect of being married to a giant fucking _lizard_ to care what the old dickbag thought of his language.

The dragon’s wings beat with booming percussion as it landed within the confines of the roofless temple. It barely fit, its scaly ass and thick tail nearly knocked over the altar as it turned in a circle and looked around with enormous, glowing, utterly terrifying, blue eyes.

“OH GREAT DRAGON!” Zachariah warbled, sounding like he might’ve just wet himself. “SINCE YOUR ARRIVAL THREE HARVESTS AGO, YOU HAVE BROUGHT PROSPERITY AND PEACE TO OUR PEOPLE!”

Dean wondered why the priest was yelling. The dragon had two huge curved horns, but beneath them were what Dean was pretty sure were a pair of pointy twitching ears. In fact as Dean watched the enormous lizard reared back a little, like a disgruntled cat disturbed by a loud noise, and nearly sat on Raphael and his gong.

“WE OFFER TRIBUTE IN THE FORM OF THIS YOUTH!” Zachariah continued, pointing at Dean. “HE IS YOUNG AND STRONG AND COMELY-“ Dean winced at the _‘comely’_ part. “- AND HAS BEEN TRAINED IN THE DELICATE ARTS TO BRING YOU GREAT PLEASURE!”

Dean shot him a look of disbelief. There had certainly been no ‘Dragon-Pleasuring’ training in any arts, ‘delicate’ or otherwise as far as he was aware. Off to one side his mother and Sam were both looking at him in pale-faced horror like they were only just now thinking through what being _married_ to a dragon might entail. _Dragon-pleasuring._

Great. Now everyone was going to think he’d spent the last month locked up in the temple fucking dragon-dildos or something instead of getting into screaming matches with Ruby over Sam and avoiding Zachariah’s lecherous late night visits to his bedchamber.

The dragon swung its cow-sized head around to stare at Dean. It didn’t have eyebrows, just matte black scales and a row of spurs leading up to its horns, but Dean had the crazy idea that if it did, it would have one raised in confusion. It huffed and Dean and Zachariah were engulfed in a blast of damp, hot, dragon breath. It smelled like hot stones.

“Do you… accept our tribute?” Zachariah asked, voice gone soft and feeble.

The dragon stared at him of a long moment. Dean hoped it might eat him. It looked to have lots of very sharp teeth in that enormous mouth. After a time it sat back on its haunches almost thoughtfully. The tall walls of the temple barely came up to its belly. It stared down at Dean, head tilted to one side. Absurdly, Dean was suddenly worried that he wasn’t good enough, that the dragon wouldn’t want him, but then it lifted its head and trumpeted, the noise so awful everyone covered their ears and some fell to the ground in prostrate terror. A plume of golden flame erupted from the dragon’s snout, the forge smell of fire and molten iron thickening in the air again.

It fell back down on all fours and then shoved its face in close to Dean. It was only shock that had Dean holding his ground as he was butted by a wall of steaming black scales and sniffed by a nostril the size of his head.  For an awful moment he thought it might _lick_ him, but thankfully sniffing seemed sufficient.

It huffed at him, a clicking noise coming from somewhere inside it’s house-sized chest, and then lowered its huge head to the floor before him, staring intently with one huge, blue cat’s eye.

Zacharaiah shoved him.

“Well go on!” he hissed. “You’re meant to ride on its back!”

Dean glanced back at his mother and brother and tried to look like he wasn’t on the verge of tears or soiling himself. His mom gave him a tight smile, but her eyes were wet. Dean grinned and then turned and climbed up the scaly mountain in front of him, pretending it was just an oddly hot, rumbling, breathing, dragon-shaped rock.

“Where the hell am I meant to sit?” he muttered as he made it to the top of the thing’s massive shoulder. There was a ridge of spines long its spine, so he clambered up those and found a likely spot in the middle of its head. It was far too big to try and sit astride, so Dean instead sat next to one of the huge curved horns, and wrapped his arms around it. It was like a hot tree trunk.

The dragon straightened slowly and gave another, much less deafening trumpet, as if in warning, and the noise vibrated unpleasantly up through Dean’s entire body and rattled his teeth, and then it just _leapt_ into the air and the sky was blocked by the huge expanse of its wings. They _cracked_ as they snapped back and forth, beating at the air, and Dean clutched at the horn and prayed he wouldn’t fall.

Once he was confident they were high enough that no one would hear, Dean screamed. The temple and the village were a few little specks of light far below, as distant as stars in the night sky, which were, incidentally, all around and far too close and personal for Dean’s liking. The dragon joined in with his screaming, trumpeting and roaring and spewing forth golden flame in excitement, like a dog playing.

Dean pressed his face into the reassuringly solid horn he was more or less wrapped around, and pretended he was on a really big, really weird horse. Not a giant flying lizard.

That he was sort of married to. Or something.

It landed about as softly as a landslide, heavy claws sinking into the earth. Dean felt it trotting forward almost eagerly, a weird rumble coming from below like it was mumbling under its breath or maybe purring. He kept his eyes closed and clung to the horn. After a few minutes the movement stopped and there was a soft, questioning trumpet from the dragon that Dean couldn’t ignore.

Forcing his eyes open Dean prepared himself for the worse. The dragon lived in the fire-mountain, that much Dean knew, so he was expecting a steaming, rocky, cavern that smelled of molten stone or the rank stink of the hot pools. And probably a bunch of charred bones or old moldering carcasses from whatever the hell the dragon ate.

He was partially right.

They were clearly in the fire-mountain. One side of the huge cavern was lit up with red and orange light and it was hot. Almost uncomfortably so. Dean could feel sweat trickling down between his shoulder blades already. But that could have been from the warm lizard he was currently perched atop. Although he was fairly certain if he looked down the gaping crevasse he could just make out in the fiery light, he would see a river of glowing hot stone or something equally disturbing to explain the reddish glow permeating the cavern.

The rest of the cavern was nothing like he had expected however. It was gold. Or rather, it was _full_ of gold. Great heaping piles of treasure. A hoard of unimaginable wealth. And there, in the center of it, a hollowed out bowl where the dragon obviously slept.

The big lizard trotted over towards that spot and lowered its head again. Taking the hint, Dean climbed down off it in a graceless… controlled fall more than anything else - landing in a pile of pointy golden crap. Hot breath blasted against his back and he scrambled away, gold coins slipping under his clawing hands and feet before he gave up any sort of escape as useless and twisting so he could at least face whatever scaly horror awaited him. The dragon’s head was right up against his sandaled feet, so close it could lick him. Dean slowly drew his leg up and away from all the scales and... _fangs..._ The dragon huffed another breath, so hot Dean’s toes curled, and then it shoved its face forward, pressing its massive snout against Dean’s chest and doing the sniffing thing again as Dean squeaked and shook and flailed about beneath him. Dean closed his eyes so he didn’t have a close up view of its enormous glowing nostrils (it looked like there were _coals_ down there or something) or jagged fangs.

"Don't eat me," he muttered under his breath, half a prayer. _"Please_ don't eat me."

For a long, endless minute, he was bathed in blasts of its furnace breath but there was no Dean-eating and then abruptly it stopped and everything went very still and quiet. Sweat pricked on Dean’s skin and he felt something warm and heavy settle across his stomach ( _what? Its tongue? A claw? The tip of its tail!?),_ but otherwise the cavern was strangely still. He remained motionless for a little longer, eyes screwed shut in denial, but eventually morbid curiosity and his own stupidity got the best of him and he forced himself to open his eyes.

There was a man _sitting_ on him.

His arms were either side of Dean’s head and his face was so close Dean could've counted his eyelashes if he'd felt the urge. (He didn't.)

He had dark hair that looked like it had been trimmed with a meat cleaver and terrifyingly blue eyes.

He was also naked.

“Hello Dean,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

Somehow this was far more terrifying than all Dean had been through and he screamed. The man frowned and jerked back, and Dean tried to get away from him, his legs churning in treasure, kicking up a shower of gold coins and cutlery and god knew what else, but not achieving much since the insane naked man was still _sitting on him_. And he was somehow incredible heavy. He stared at Dean for a moment and then when Dean took a breath to refuel for more screaming, pushed both his palms, his weirdly _hot_ palms, against Dean’s face, effectively gagging him.

“Why are you making that noise?” he asked, sounding offended. “My human is supposed to sing to me and tell me stories, not scream like a banshee.”

“ _Your human?”_ Dean asked in confusion though all that came out was something like: “ _Uuh Oomah?”_

The man’s eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. “If I let you go, you won’t make that awful noise anymore will you?”

Dean considered for a moment and then shook his head.

The man removed his hands slowly, like he thought he might have to slap them back over Dean’s mouth as quickly as possible.

“Who _are_ you?!” Dean asked. Well, demanded.

The man scowled and crossed his arms, which reminded Dean all over again that there was a _naked person_ sitting on him. “ _I’m_ Castiel,” he said, like that ought to be impressive.

Dean blinked. “Are you the dragon’s as well?” Suddenly the nakedness made horrifying sense. “Oh gods do you _pleasure it?”_

The stranger reared back, eyes widening in shock and offense and even if Dean hadn’t noticed the dark horns curling up out of his messy hair, he might have recognized the gesture. He shut his eyes again, in mortification this time instead of fear. Though he was still about 99% terrorized.  _“Oh gods you’re the dragon!”_

How long had he lasted? Not even a half an hour and he’d managed to imply the fearsome creature he’d been gifted to was his own self-pleasuring pillow slave. or something. Sam was right, Dean really did have a big mouth.

It would eat him. Then probably go and torch the village and eat everyone. His mom, Sam – his entire family. Even his awful second cousins twice removed. Christian deserved it but not poor Gwen. “I’m-sorry-I-didn’t-know-please-don’t-eat-me-please-don’t-burn-down-the-village!” he blurted, still not daring to open his eyes.

“I’m not going to eat you,” the man- _dragon-_ said. “Why would you think that?”

Dean bit his tongue and managed not to blurt _BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING DRAGON,_ but it was a near thing. He gingerly opened his eyes.

Now that he was paying a bit more attention, he could see that the dragon wasn’t human. Apart from the whole… _horn_ situation he had going on up top, Dean could feel heat wafting off his skin like a naked flame, his eyes were _glowing,_ he had long, sharp, talon-like fingernails and when he gave Dean was probably meant to be a reassuring smile, it revealed white pointed teeth more suited to some sort of enormous cat than a person.

Dean swallowed and tried to remain calm. “So… you’re not going to eat me?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“No of course not,” the dragon said then leaned forward and… sniffed him. It was somehow creepier in his humanish form. “Dragons don’t eat their mates.”

Dean blinked. “…what?” He’d sort of assumed Zachariah had been making up the whole ‘marriage’ part of the dragon thing since it had actually been mentioned back at the temple.

The dragon started sniffing him again, butting his face against Dean’s and then huffing hot little puffs of breath from the crook of his neck. “You smell _wonderful,”_ he said, a low rumble under the words somewhat like a cat’s purr.

“That’s… nice,” Dean managed, “But what do you mean ‘mate’? You mean like, special… dragon friend right? Buddy? Pal?”

“Oh we'll be friends I'm sure,” the dragon agreed, his hot, raspy tongue darting out to lap at the skin beneath Dean’s jaw. There was something firm poking Dean in the stomach and all of a sudden he remembered that the dragon was naked. “I always wanted a human,” it continued. “And I think you are the prettiest one I have ever seen.” As it spoke it patted Dean’s face awkwardly, sort of smooshing his nose and nearly poking him in the eye.

‘ _Pretty’_ , Dean reflected, was perhaps even worse than ‘ _Comely’_. Pushing that aside Dean gathered the scattered remains of his courage and tugged (politely) at the dragon’s hair until he lifted his head from where he was nuzzling at his neck and Dean could meet his eyes. He needed to be diplomatic.

Dragons were clever, they spoke in riddles and the only way to escape them was to outwit them. Or at least… that’s what Dean’s mom had told him in his bedtime stories when he was a kid. But hey, there was probably a grain of truth to that somewhere right?

“You’re a very… handsome… err… impressive… dragon,” Dean started, thinking returning the compliment was a nice opener. The dragon’s chest puffed and its purring grew louder for a moment, like a smug cat. Lizard-cat. Dragon-person? “And I’m… _honored_ that you would want to keep me as your… human.” So far so good, now he just needed to let the guy- _dragon –_ down gently on the whole _pleasuring_ side of things, which judging from what was currently poking Dean in the hip, was something he needed to do sooner rather than later. He licked his lips and opened his mouth to speak, words poised on the end of his tongue.

The dragon ducked down and kissed him. No, well, not kissed him, more like nibbled at his bottom lip and sort of licked his face a little. Dean froze.

“Oh,” the dragon said. “ _Oh._ You taste delicious…” And then there were warm fingers and scarily long nails combing through Dean’s hair and a dragon’s hot tongue delving into his mouth and everything went to shit quite rapidly. Dean flailed for a moment, trying desperately for a way to get the hot, purring, dragon-man off him but nothing was coming to mind so for a minute Dean just sort of squirmed underneath him as he was inexpertly but very thoroughly tongue-fucked.

When the dragon pulled away and licked and sucked at his neck he really should have said something, pointed out that an awful mistake had occurred, but the neck thing was… sort of nice actually… and Dean’s lips were all warm and tingly, the taste of something like spice lingering on them… and then the dragon had those very _warm_ hands of his sliding under the stupid robe Dean was wearing and that was… sort of nice too.

There was some more kissing, and ‘ _Really_ ,’ Dean thought to himself, curling a hand around one of the dragon’s horns and tugging his head into a better angle, ‘ _It’s only kissing.’_

He’d done enough of that with pretty much any willing boy or girl that would give him the time of day back at his village. It didn’t mean anything. Besides which, the dragon was actually a _really_ good kisser, even if he was a bit weird and nibbly and the teeth Dean swiped his tongue over in that hot mouth of his were sharp and pointed.

He kinda liked it.

So maybe he let the dragon get a little more handsy with him than he should have, but when that incredibly hot mouth of his sunk over his cock and swallowed him down, moaning like Dean really did taste as delicious as he claimed, it seemed rude to tell him to stop. After all, it wasn’t like he was demanding Dean suck _his_ cock, Dean was the one being ‘pleasured’ as it were. And… and when his mouth went lower, licked and sucked at Dean’s balls and then started swiping hot and wet _even lower,_ well… maaaaybe Dean should have said something. But it felt _really nice_ and the dragon was purring like crazy and since they _both_ seemed to be enjoying themselves, Dean didn’t feel like he needed to ruin things.

And once the dragon had that deceptively long tongue of his buried in Dean’s ass, making his cock dribble and spurt where it bobbed achingly hard against his belly, well, to be honest Dean wasn’t thinking much at all. When it rolled him onto his belly and replaced its tongue with something thicker and even hotter Dean just moaned and reached back, grabbing at one of its horns like a handle. And with a dragon fucking him atop a massive mound of gold, splitting him open and filling him up in a way he didn’t even know was possible and that felt goddamn _amazing,_ Dean realized he didn’t actually mind being the weird nibbly dragon’s human. Or his mate. Husband. ‘Dragon-pleasurer’. What-the-fuck- _ever_.

From what he could tell so far, the position seemed to offer immeasurable wealth and incredibly good sex.

“ _Maaaate,”_ the dragon hissed in his ear as he spilled inside Dean, wet and scalding. Dean didn’t even bother trying to justify to himself why he didn’t open his mouth to argue, he was too busy coming all over the stupid tasseled robe he was getting fucked on top of.

Behind him the dragon purred and starting licking the bite he’d left on the back of Dean’s neck. “Mate,” it said again, smug and pleased with itself. “Pretty mate.”

Dean glared at him over his shoulder. “M’not _pretty_ ,” he insisted, still somewhat out of breath, his body tingling all over. “I’m… manly… as hell.”

Castiel tilted his head as he pondered that claim for a moment, then nodded, seemingly in agreement. “Not pretty,” he told Dean, leaning forward to kiss him with surprisingly gentleness. “Beautiful,” he rumbled against Dean’s lips, “Wondrous, precious, _perfect,_ mate. Greatest treasure of my hoard.”

Dean groaned, because that was _so much worse,_ but the dragon just took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into his mouth with that distractingly hot tongue of his.

 _Later._ Dean would explain later.


End file.
